


to where you are

by Cicadaemon



Series: Assassin's Creed Collection [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Collection, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Jack the Ripper DLC, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2020-09-23 19:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20345332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicadaemon/pseuds/Cicadaemon
Summary: chapter 8:She found herself having to grit her teeth the second the tot cried out ‘pap’ and went waddling over into open arms. And it would eat at her for hours on end, leaving her feeling desperate and upset.





	1. somehow comforts me (evie and jacob)

It had started off as a simple cough. Ethan had been quick to shrug off any concern over it, declaring it just a cold. People don’t die of colds, he told, though she had bit her tongue back to tell him he was wrong. A cough became heavier, and then it was bloody. He had been wracked with fever by the time it was clear to be pneumonia. By the time the physician had looked at him, it was too late. He took one listen and stated their father was a dead man. In gentler words, but all Evie had heard was an expiration date. People could fight pneumonia. They don’t survive it with pleurisy on top.

She had sat by his bed most days, changing a wet cloth or just holding his hand. As the fever worsen, Ethan’s mind had gone. Evie had to hide the tears that came suddenly when he had confused her for Cecily. She saw the worst of it, as he lost weight and kept no food or drink down. And where was Jacob? She would bitterly curse him every time he avoided taking watch.

“I’m not a masochist.” He had hissed at her one day. “I kill, but I don’t enjoy watching someone die.”

She wanted to snap back that he did not like the implications he had made about her own person, but he had left quickly. Where she found herself sullen, she found Jacob hostile. She let him to his own devices, finding for not the first time she worked better on her own. She worked as the perfect daughter, keep vigilance over a sick and dying father with grace. And behind closed doors she’d cry and shake; ever so fearful of the future without him. They were still young and need guidance. Even if Jacob wouldn’t admit it.

It finally came on a lovely, sunny day. His breathing had grown slower and shallower, and his limbs had slowly grown cold. The physician had confirmed that these were the final hours, and it had been enough to finally get Jacob into the room. Evie had only watched him long enough to be sure he wouldn’t make a scene before turning back to her father. They had sat there for hours, Evie never letting go off his hand, and Jacob with his head in his hands. She had watched as his chest grew still and a stillness had settled over the room. Their father, mentor and to her, friend, was gone. She didn’t even have a moment to begin to cry for Jacob to ruin it all.

“Well if that’s done.” His voice was rough. She had looked to him in shock, never thinking him so callous. But he was pale and eyes shiny. She hadn’t stopped him when he marched out of the room. The second the door closed, she had pressed her face to her father’s cold hand and cried.

The funeral had been a few days after that. Nothing grand, as he would have wanted. Ethan had said so. He wanted something small and intimate. She had arranged everything, with help from friends and fellow Assassins. George had been the best of them, giving her a shoulder to rest on. She had decided once she left her father’s room that she wouldn’t let anyone see her cry.

Jacob was nowhere to be found when he was needed. Evie wanted nothing more than to chew him out, to yell and scream, but she knew better. To act out wasn’t her way. That was Jacob’s job, and the only one he seemed capable of doing. She didn’t ask him where he went, but only that he’d be there when the funeral came.

Of course, he didn’t show. She had slipped on the one black dress she had, knowing that she couldn’t really wear mourning clothes after this. She had slipped over to Jacob’s room once she was fully dressed, upset that he wasn’t out yet. He could dress far quicker than her, and the only logical reason for his tardiness was that he had slept in. She hadn’t even knocked. Barging in, she expected to see a Jacob sprawled out in the sheets, but found the bed neatly made. No trace of his boots that he kept by the chair, or cap that she knew would be thrown on the dresser. He had completely left. Evie had pretended to be an idiot and hoped that he would be dressed waiting by the church, but he wasn’t.

He wasn’t there when she had to put her father in the dirt, alone though surrounded. She needed him. The one person in the world who could shared her pain should have been there with her. He had made her bear the entire weight of their father’s death and funeral by herself. The one time she truly needed him and he wasn’t there. Though angry beyond belief, she hadn’t the strength to curse him. She had instead grinned and beared it as best as she could. People asked for him during the wake, and Evie lied through her teeth that Jacob had been pulled away on more important matters. They had scoffed at that answer; it didn’t paint a nice picture of Jacob, but she didn’t want to defend his actions. George had given her a knowing glance at one point, after she told that lie for the umpteenth time. He had left after that, only to come back an hour later and subtle dragged her to the side.

“Your brother is at Oakbrook, of all places.” Evie groaned hearing the news. “I think it might be better if you drag him home. If I do it, I’m bound to break his nose trying to get him out.”

“And what’s stopping me from doing the same.” That angry came rushing up with a new source of energy alongside. George had merely given her a look.

“Be the better person, Evie. People handle grief in different ways.”

She wanted to bite back saying that Jacob wasn’t grieving, just being the bastard he had always been. Never hiding his disdain for their father and always rebelling. That he was probably looking forward to this day. But she remembered his reaction to their father’s death, not his words but how he had looked. Evie found herself unsure, thanking George for his help and ran to her room to change. Slipping out the window, she made her way to the tavern.

She berated herself for not realizing he’d be here. When he wasn’t off running around the factories and fields at night, he was here, drinking himself into a black out. It should have been the first place she had checked. But then again, maybe Evie didn’t check because she hadn’t wanted to find him. No telling what she’d do.

The tavern was hot and loud, as it always was during the summer months. And there sat Jacob, obviously drunk playing cards with a group of men she didn’t recognition. She could tell something was up and slink away to watch. She nearly went over to grab him when she realized, he was cheating at the game, and that one of the men was becoming suspicious. This was bound to become a fight, and tonight was one night she did not want to drag him out of a mess he started. So, Evie marched over. And Jacob saw her quickly.

“You’re coming home now.” She had nearly growled. Jacob had looked to her a little lost, and she nearly grabbed him to drag him out. He was obviously very drunk, more so than she had seen before, and it infuriated her further. One of the men laughed.

“Your wife sure is a fiery thing.”

Jacob had looked to the man with absolute disgusted. “This is my sister. _Twin_ _sister_.”

The man had still laughed. “I don’t judge country folk.”

This was going to become a fight and fast. Evie was quick to grab Jacob as he jumped up from the chair and dragged him outside. He protested as the men all laughed, but she wasn’t having any of it. Jacob in any other state would be able to overpower her, but his body didn’t seem to want to obey. She had been able to make it down a block, before throwing him into an alley way. He fell over quickly and seemed unable to get up. She had no pity.

“How _dare_ you do this to me!” To hell with being the better person. To hell with not acting out. She was going to give him a piece of her mind and for once she wasn’t going to be kind about it. He looked like he wanted to respond, but Evie was quicker. “Our father is dead. He had been dying for weeks. And where were you Jacob? What were you doing? I can understand why you wouldn’t want to watch that. Barely, but I do understand. But on the day of his funeral? To bear all of this grief and responsibility on my own?”

She began to cry despite herself and he had gotten to his feet, though unstable. She didn’t stop. “You are selfish and irresponsible. I am absolutely disgusted by you. Couldn’t you for once think of someone other than yourself?”

She had watched in amazement as tears came pouring and Jacob shook with sobs. He had stumbled and hugged her as tight as he seemed capable of. She’d never admit to him later how good it felt. It really been so long since she had been hugged like this. Especially from him.

“I-I’m sorry.” His words slurred and he very much smelled of drink. “I am so sorry.”

“You had no right.” She could feel her angry slip away, if only a little. “Sorry means nothing.”

“I couldn’t be there. I can’t do it.” He pressed his face into her shoulder, and she could feel his hot, wet breath through the fabric. “I shouldn’t have done this. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have run.”

They stood there as he cried, and she awkwardly supported his weight. Eventually, she put her arms around him too and hugged back. She couldn’t forgive him for this, not ever, but maybe she could understand. People handle grief in different ways. “You could have come to me.” She whispered and she felt him shake his head.

“You would berate me for being an idiot.”

“I’d do so with love. Jacob,” She sighed and pressed her cheek to his head. “We are all that we have left. We have to depend on each other. You can’t leave me stranded like this ever again.”

His breathing had slowed down. He pulled away and she had to turn her head as the smell of his breath was revolting.

“You’re disgusting me for other reasons now.” He laughed at that.

“Sorry.”

“I won’t forgive you for this. Not yet.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “You have to prove yourself.”

“I will. I’m sorry.” He slurred, leaning into her. She sighed thinking on how she was going to practically have to drag him home.

“Come on Jacob.” She said as she put his arm around her shoulder. “Time to get you home.”

“I love you.” Now that was something he wouldn’t say sober. He’d tell her that no man could deserve a sister like her or some other variation, but never I love you. To be fair, she was sparse in saying it herself. Despite herself, she smiled, feeling warm in a way she hadn't in a while. They'd have a proper talk about this in the morning, when he was sober and she was rested. He wasn't getting off of this, no excuse being good enough to defend abandoning her during these hard weeks. But for now she could forget it. She found the words coming easy out of her mouth.

“I love you too. Now come on.”

When he had puked as they neared their home, barely missing her shoes, she wasn’t really sure how far that love went.

-0-

"And where were you these past few days?" She asked him as he nursed a cup of coffee.

"Down by Tillgate Lake." He had said softly. His face was puffy and he looked miserable. "He took me fishing there once. I think that was truly the first and last time we ever really talked. I'm... going to miss him in a way."

She could agree with that.

"I'm sorry for what I did." She nodded. Their talk had made it clear to Evie that Jacob was the worst at handling this sort of thing. She prayed no one else died anytime soon. "Truly. What I have against father does not cross over to you. I was an idiot."

She gave him a smile. "Just as long as you promise to never abandon me again, I can put this aside."

"I promise." He held out his hand, pinky finger extended. Such a childish thing, but it was touching beyond words. She locked her pinky with his.

"Know pinky promises can never be broken."

He gave a soft laughed. "I know."


	2. how glorious the ending you've learned (nathaniel and jacob)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watched his father’s face, picking out bits of his face that were like his, and wondered what this man had been like once. The young, reckless and roguish boy who had somehow conquered London. Jacob Frye without worry or concern. The Jacob he knew now seemed so different, so burdened in these past weeks by a problem he would not share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of hcs. Nate is a character ao3 user Pyotr and I started hc about when we realised Jacob would have had a son. If you want to read more about him, check out their drabbled collection men could die martyr'd.

He didn’t really care much for Whitechapel. He didn’t really know why he didn’t like it, just that he didn’t. They had moved about a lot when he was young, so it wasn’t like he had nostalgia for some other place. Life had been on the rails, in safehouses scattered about or at the Abberline’s.

Lying in bed, listening to the commotion outside he felt like, while yes Whitechapel wasn’t his favourite, he probably hated living in London proper more. It’s not like you’d hear Big Fanny talking about her failing marriage in the most colourful language at 2 in the morning in London proper. God Bless Whitechapel and God Save the Queen.

He had been so enamored in the conversation (“Bastard thinks he can runnin’ off for some cheap piece of skirt? I showed him by having a blow with his brother”) he didn’t hear footsteps on the way to the flat. Normally, he’d be able to tell who was coming up, the residence was old, and the stairs groaned so loud it sometimes woke him. Levi, bless him, was quick in walking up the stairs while if it was Nellie the sound of her boots would wake the dead.

His father’s steps were always light, but Nathaniel could still tell they were there. He nearly jumped when the door opened up, and upon hearing a familiar sort of sigh, he relaxed. Light footsteps to the one bed in the place, the sound of clothes being shucked off. He was facing the wall, the many flaws in the wall mapped out, but he had a good ear. He had been trained to have a good ear. So, he listened. The coat coming off sound different then the waistcoat and pants, fabric being different and all. His father’s breathing also seemed different, a little more shallow.

“Why are you still awake.” His father’s voice made him jump. The bed shifted under weight as his father sat down to take off his boots.

“Don’t you hear what they’re talking about out there?” That got a little laugh which Nate counted as a victory. His father wasn’t mad. Not that he was ever, but still.

Blankets shifted and Nate took that moment to turn around to face that new warmth. No lights were on in the flats, the candles having been snuffed out over an hour ago, and the glow of the fireplace was nearly useless. But with moonlight, he could clearly make out his father’s face. He seemed more tired these days, maybe a little more sad. He was losing territory in the most traitorous way. Though he wouldn’t say to whom.

He reached his hand out and touched those bags under his eyes. He closed his eyes and smiled in response. “Cheeky shit.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.” He said, cozying up closer to him. He then brought one hand to the scar on his eyebrow. He knew the story about this one, and the one on his cheek. Still, he asked. “How did you get this one?”

“Nate, you know this story.” His tone was exasperated, by the way he shifted in bed, allowing an arm to curl around Nate, he knew he won. “About a thousand times now, right?”

“More like ten thousand, but I still want to hear.”

The story was simple. He had been young and had gotten into a bar fight. It was over cards, that he had cheated at. His father had given him a scolding afterwards, and his sister had scolded him too. But she had done so with tender exasperation. It felt like an unlikely story, his father was a steady man. Not one who seemed to seek trouble for the sake of seeking. But every story was like that. With a disclaimer.

“Now, I was stupid when I was young.” His dad began. “Don’t ever be like me and you will do well in life.”

He told the story, with a variation here and there. A new detail emerging and derailing the story. Nate loved these sorts of moments the most. They made any place bearable, cuddling up to his father and listening to his multitude of stories. How he once derailed a train or conquer a certain borough. Meeting Frederick for the first time (one of his favourites) or easy stories from his childhood with the twin sister Nate never met.

He watched his father’s face, picking out bits of his face that were like his, and wondered what this man had been like once. The young, reckless and roguish boy who had somehow conquered London. Jacob Frye without worry or concern. The Jacob he knew now seemed so different, so burdened in these past weeks by a problem he would not share.

Burdens were wiped away from his features as he told the story, and he was peaceful when the story was done, and he was well asleep.

Nate took a moment to brush away a stray hair, before curling even closer into his father.

He felt more than safe.


	3. what a life i missed (frederick abberline)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick really didn’t know how to feel by the end of it. He had wanted to laugh at their jabs at his profundity for disguises. He want to lean into Jacob’s touch and smile. Maybe shoot Evie a look back. There were so many thank yous he wanted to give. But he found himself unable to do any of that. A stilted thank you was all he could give and he walked away.

Frederick really didn’t know how to feel by the end of it. He had wanted to laugh at their jabs at his profundity for disguises. He want to lean into Jacob’s touch and smile. Maybe shoot Evie a look back. There were so many thank yous he wanted to give. But he found himself unable to do any of that. A stilted thank you was all he could give and he walked away.

He had found himself unsure.

He wanted to say he was glad to have met them and to help them in bringing justice to London. But really Frederick left them with an unpleasant taste in his mouth. If he felt as though, like had in the beginning, that this so-called justice was just another form of corruption. Could society really be better from murder and broken laws?

As he made his way back to their- his flat, he couldn’t help his mind wander to the day he had come home to find Henry Green on his sofa drinking tea with his wife. They had been married about two weeks, and already Freddy found himself unable to see a future without her. Even with the severity of the conversation, his eyes would wander to her. He had met Green on one occasion before and had asked him if he was interested in change.

Over tea, he had learned what change really was.

As it had been for months, his heart dropped as he unlocked the door and made his way in. The décor hadn’t really changed since that day, though the curtains had been replaced with black as was customary. In a month he could change them back to the white lace that had been a wedding gift.

After Green had told Freddy to take his time on the decision and left, Martha had been right onto him.

“This is an excellent opportunity.” He had looked at her confused then. “You know what I mean. You complain of wanting to leave the force and yet here is the chance to use what you deem corrupt to fix that.”

“One crime begets another, dear.” He had tried to smile. “It’s a vicious cycle I’d rather not be apart of.”

Martha had laughed then, so sweet. She had always had scrunched up her nose when she smiled, and he found himself smitten by it all.

“But Freddy.” She said still with a smile. “You can’t always do what seems right. Shift your worldview for just a moment.”

She had wanted him to do this. And she had told him so many times over the course of several days, till he finally made his way to the curio shop in Whitechapel to tell Green he would. Martha had made him confident in this decision, as she had when she had convinced him to stay with the MET despite his exhaustion. She had that effect on him. Even as she got sick, she had somehow convinced him that she'd get better.

This flat felt so empty without her.

He wanted to ignore the pang of loneliness in chest. He wanted to sleep and forget this all. But the memory of Martha clung to him. Six weeks was not long enough. He had wanted 50 years, with children and grandchildren. He wanted to grow old with her. He still wanted that, even though it was impossible now.

The only mementos he had kept after her death had been her ring and their wedding photograph. Their place was on his nightstand, acting as a reminder.

She would have wanted him to do this. To keep pushing forward despite his doubts. To live a life even though it felt so hard. She would have approved of his friendship with the Frye’s, and he had thought with amusement that she’d probably find Jacob entertaining. He almost laughed at the thought of the two interacting, and watching as she'd put him in his place. 

He picked up the photograph and found himself lost in the image. She had been dressed in her Sunday best, a lovely peach dress. Her hair was done in such elegant style, one which she hadn’t copied since that day. He had loved taking it apart at the end of that day, feeling her thick russet hair in his fingers.

He really missed her.

She’d know what to say now. Martha would smile at him, with her dimples and freckles, and help him make sense of all these feelings. She always knew what to say. To Freddy she had been the perfect woman and wife.

Any sensible person would cry; release all these feelings within them. Freddy, instead put the photograph down and pushed it all down. Ignore the pain and hope it would go away.

He was sure he’d see Jacob and Evie again. It felt like fate. He wondered if they’d ask for his help. If they did, he’d give it. It’s what Martha would of approved of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got Freddy's thank you today and like it felt so sad? So obviously I had to write something explaining it.
> 
> Historically, Freddy had been married to Martha after meeting her six weeks prior. She then died six weeks after marriage. Tuberculous is a bitch. She had actually convinced him to keep working for the MET even though he was disillusioned. I like to think she was the sole reason he even started working with the Assassins. It's hard to say when the game actually took place, cause it could of either been March/April or June/July. I'm going with the latter, meaning Martha died like a month prior to the beginning of the game :)


	4. with hot words leaping across (jacob/freddy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was too close for what would be deemed proper, his mouth right by Jacob’s ear, but really, he wasn’t thinking about that. Gun safety was above social norms, especially in this line of work. His focus was gone in an instance when he felt Jacob leaned back onto his. And he could not deny that it had felt good.

“Please for the love of God, tell me that’s not how you’ve been taking down the Blighters.” Frederick was beyond shocked. Horrified even. Everything was wrong, from they way Jacob aimed the gun to his stance. He had just looked at him with confusion.

“What?” He threw his arms out, gun still out. “I know, it’s absolutely shocking. In order to deal with gang members, I must kill them. Not all of us-“

“No no no.” Freddy wasn’t playing at this today. “A recoil from your gun can cause a great deal of damage. Your stance borders on dangerous. Have you never fired a gun before?”

Never had Frederick seen the assassin bashful before. A faint blush had settled on his checks as he seemed draw into himself.

“I.” There was a paused, before Jacob looked him in the eye. “I have never shot a gun till I had come to London. Guns are too loud for our line of work.”

The sigh that escaped him was loud and honestly what did he expect? It was beyond obvious what Jacob was doing was that of a novice. Raw talent could only go so far, and while yes Jacob seemed to have a talent for violence it really didn’t help here.

There had been no Blighters to take down in this instance thank God. He had just ambushed Jacob to give him a gift for the work he had done so far. A gun. It was a good model gun, a model 3 revolver, and he regretted giving such a nice gift to someone who couldn’t use it. Jacob had been testing it out, and it was enough to give Frederick physical pains.

“Well then.” He was defensive now, mouth drawn in an ugly way. How he hated when Jacob got this way. It was easy to deal with, but it was still like dealing with a child at times. “What do you suggest remedying this issue?”

He took a moment to think on it, or rather build up courage to offer what he wanted to. Another sigh and he pitted up all that he could. “Show me your stance one more time.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and he looked to Frederick unsure, but obeyed with no protest. A rare thing indeed. He took in the sight before him, marking all the mistakes. He circled Jacob, and while yes, there was much wrong, there was also a lot he was doing right. His feet were firmly placed, and his arm was held out correctly. Still, he placed himself behind the man, front to back, and grabbed his arm.

“Move it just so.” Jacob gasped at the contact, but Frederick took little to no note of it. “Make sure both eyes are open and stare not at the end of the gun, but at your target. Like driving a carriage. You don’t look at were the horse is about to step, but to where you wish to lead it.”

He then took his free hand and placed it upon Jacob’s waist, pushing to make him shift his weight.

“Just so.”

He was too close for what would be deemed proper, his mouth right by Jacob’s ear, but really, he wasn’t thinking about that. Gun safety was above social norms, especially in this line of work. His focus was gone in an instance when he felt Jacob leaned back onto his. And he could not deny that it had felt good.

“Like so, Sergeant Abberline?” His voice was low and husky; Jacob was pulling no stops in this new attempt of flirting. He could have sworn he felt Jacob grind his posterior against him. And that sort of feeling was so much better than before.

Biting his lip, he sucked in one firm breath. It took so much willpower to not turn Jacob around and bruise that cocky mouth of his or take him against that wall.

Willpower won out and he stepped away. Jacob had looked back at him, his extended arm falling slowly, looking at him with want and expectation. This was more dangerous than any recoil, or stray bullet. He felt like the weakest man when Jacob shot him such a look, knowing it was all a game. That there was no chance he could pursue. Knowing his luck, he would, and he would be met with disgust. And he couldn’t risk his reputation with a man who seemed to not care. It was too much a risk.

“Exactly.” His voice felt thick. “Just so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for once, Frederick George Abberline is the dumb bitch


	5. cut my hair change my name (nellie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nellie never really missed it. Not truly. She had been so young when it was all taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is based on a theory brought up between friends in the ac discord.

Nellie hadn’t always been Nellie.

In a past life she had grown up with many comforts and very few complaints. She’d wake in a warm tick. Her breakfast would consist of bacon ham, porridge with her choices of preserves or sugar, and tea at all meals. She remembers her lessons most of all; hours spend learning to read and write from the second she could hold a pen. Her life before always came rushing back with the weight of a pen and the rough feel of paper. It was then she’d feel like she was back in the sitting room with her tutor overlooking every elegant curve.

Nellie never really missed it. Not truly. She had been so young when it was all taken away.

If focuses, and very hard, she can remember maybe a detail or two about her mother. She had only met the woman on a handful of occasions. Nellie had learned very early on that the circumstances of her birth were undesirable, and she should feel privileged to know who they were. In every encounter she had, Nellie knew the woman did not see her as her daughter. An unfortunate biproduct of a relationship that was unbalanced. Nellie was nothing.

This woman, she remembers, was stiff and upright, never once cracking a smile. Her hair had been a deep, beautiful red in an equally stiff and upright hairstyle. Her name had been Lucy, this she had learned from the servants. When she had lived this life, she had taken her name and thought it pretty. Nellie, who once had been Cornelia Thorne, had loved her mother only for the fact that she had bestowed such a pretty name onto her.

Her father, on the other hand, she had seen more frequently. Every Saturday night, he’d arrive and sup with her. In those dinners, he never seemed quite interested in her. She supposed he took seeing her as an excuse to relax; she was often reminded her father was a busy man. Every Sunday they’d attend a private service and then he’d be gone for another week. She wasn’t sure if she loved him. How could she? Her father had been all but a stranger. Yes, he had been responsible for her comforts, her education, and without praise, her solitude. She knew her birth was a disgrace, a blight upon her father’s good name. His presence had been all an act. A curtesy.

In the end, they both had died and by the end of the year she had been thrown into the streets. Her bastard status was the culprit; as the illegitimate child of Crawford Starrick would never see a penny of his wealth.

Cornelia had become Nellie in a fortnight and against all odds she survived. More than that. She thrived. She had learned to beg and apply her previous talents to good use. Much money could be brought in acting as a scribe to those who could not read or write, but eventually that dried up. So, at age 13 she had resorted to what most girls did. With no fear, she spread her legs and learned to withstand the foul stench of men.

Over time, she became a protector of other unfortunate girls, fighting off men who pushed too far. The girls, in return, clung to her like chicks to a mother hen. She taught them all she knew, from how to protect or fight back, but ultimately, her favourite lesson was reading. These girls soon learned their words and Nellie found herself proud. Her purpose had become a righteous one, and she’d happily be the patron of the lowly whore.

Nellie hadn’t always been Nellie, that was true, but she’d rather be her than any pampered daughter of some rich bastard. Any day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia, Nellie shares the same face model as Lucy Thorne. Goblinproof (who you should check out on Insta) and I went ham and developed a whole theory that Nellie is the illegitimate daughter of Lucy Thorne and of course Crawford Starrick. I mean, convince me Starrick didn't try to manipulate Lucy in every way and form. Also, she seemed way to close to him for there to be no romantic feelings there. They knew each other before Nellie's canonically birth year, and like it's just possible. If people can argue Jacob would of slept with Roth, I can argue Nellie was Lucy and Crawford's kid.
> 
> "But Archie," You begin to complain, eyes narrowed in disgust. "Starrick is ugly and Lucy seems like she has taste."
> 
> Well you see, they're British, and they are known to have no taste. Check mate.


	6. leave this one behind (jacob frye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew it was bad. He knew just how Jack would of killed her as they made their way down to Buck’s Row without a single word spoken. The body wasn’t there anymore, but the congealed blood that stuck to the ground marked so much. It was so odd, being here, so close to the shop Henry Green once led them to when they were still so new to London. A sight so familiar now marked with a death Jacob had a hard time understanding.

He had promised to meet them near the Queen’s Head. Nine thirty he had said, and yet here he was, running late. As he ran along the narrow alleyways and occasionally jumping across rooftops, Jacob thought of any excuse to make. All of them were terrible, and he came to terms not for the first time that he was a terrible liar. The real reason for his tardiness involved a burnt dish and a slew of insults and laughter from his son. Something he didn’t want his Initiates knowing to save himself from further embarrassment.

By the time he made it to the alley where the pub laid, he was nearly an hour late. He gave himself a quick glance at his pocket watch, before walking down the covered alley to the courtyard, mindful of his steps. This meeting was supposed to be covert.

Apparently, someone hadn’t gotten the message.”

“If he’s not here by eleven, I’m going into the pub and drinking myself into the morning.” He had nearly groaned hearing that voice. Levi Cogley, one of his Initiates still loitering around the East End and certified loudmouth. He had of course invited the man but had made him promise to be quiet. A message that didn't get through that thick skull. Jacob hoped that as least at his worst, he wasn't as idiotic as this boy.

“Quiet.” Another voice hissed as Jacob stepped out into the courtyard. Their backs were facing him. One was dressed in common clothes, and the other like a harlot ready to make her rounds. It was good to see that they were prepared.

“Why? It's always the same with him. _Levi_-“ He began to imitate what he suspected was his own voice. “_I need to meet you here at this time, don’t be late and don’t go talking about why. Oops sorry, I’m late again! I was too busy-_“

“Busy doing what.” Jacob couldn’t keep the grin off his face when Levi, and the other one, Bridget, turned around; one looking horrified and the other amused. “Please finish.”

“I’d rather not.” He shuffled away sheepishly, not daring to look him in the eye.

“Mister Frye good to see you.” Bridget stepped forward, filling the awkward space. If she was cold in what little clothes she wore, it didn't show. She held her hand out for him to shake and he noted that even her gloves were thin. “We weren’t waiting long ourselves. Had a bit of a run-in with your defective Rooks.”

A touchy subject. He instinctively clenched his jaw thinking about it. Twenty years he had worked with this gang and now they abandoned him. It was less angry at them, for he never blames them for why, but more the person responsible. Which is why they were here.

“Are you alright?” He was pleased to see her nod. “Good, then we’ll get right down to it.”

A simple plan. Bridget, who had taken the disguise of Mary Ann Nichols for a number of weeks now, would go out and make a spectacle. Jack had already gone after one initiate in a non-fatal attack. Jacob was more than sure the former assassin would be keeping an eye on not only his movements but that of his Initiates. The deaths of Eliza Smith and Martha Tabram already proved that theory viable. Eliza attacked by the hands of Jack’s own crew and then Martha at his own hands. With a message promising retribution. It was a risky choice sending Bridget, who was one of the many Initiates around the city posed as prostitutes, but what other choice did he have?

“And me?” Levi finally spoke up. “What am I to do? Keep watch?”

He shook his head. “No. I need you to go into the city proper and talk to Midge. She’s got some Rooks still on our side in hiding in the sewer. Take them and their families, get them to one of our strongholds in the Strand. I don’t want more blood spilled.”

No argument was heard from either party besides a heavy sigh. Jacob watched as Levi fiddled with his hidden blade and Bridget took rouge out of her skirt pocket, furiously dabbing it onto her cheeks. He had known both of these Initiates since they were children. Both freed from the same workhouse and had become trusted assassins. It was like watching his own kid grow up, a sense of pride and worry mixed within him.

As if to read his mind, Levi asked a question. “Are you going to involve Nate into any of this? I'm sure he'd gonna catch wind of it. Little pitchers and all that?”

Now that he had to laugh too, even if it came out a little tired. That he had thought of already when Nate had bothered him earlier. “No. He’s fifteen, and barely able to keep up in the fighting ring. Jack would happily kill him to get to me. That or he'd do something worse. I would never risk it.”

“And you don’t think he won’t kill us? Or worse?” The tone which Levi used made it sure that he wasn’t being serious. But Jacob had taken it as such.

“I think he underestimates how much you all mean to me. Remember when he broke off. He thought I was an unfeeling monster. That I didn't truly care about the Brotherhood?” He hadn’t thought much on that fight in all the years since, but it had been constantly on his mind since Jack decided to pop up once more. It brought out the urge to protect them better than he had protected poor Jack the Lad.

Bridget, now looking gaudier with her cheeks painted red, had touched Levi’s arm. “Let’s go.”

He had walked as they walked away, splitting once they reached the main street. He waited for a minute or two before heading down the maze of alleys to a certain house in the heart of Whitechapel.

His lodgings were only that in a name. He didn’t spend most nights here, but it acted as one of the safe houses since Jack’s _coup d'état_. For the plain-clothed Rooks or Assassins that needed him or just a place to lie low. It mainly served as a meeting spot. Which was why he climbing up the stairs quickly, giving only a quick hello to those out in the yard

“Am I late?” He asked as he entered the unlocked door. The lodgings weren’t well kept and messier then even Jacob liked, but with a fire going, it was cozy. “Thank you for lighting the fire, Nellie.”

“I think you’re on time.” The young woman sat by the fire in the armchair she had dragged from the sitting room. “It’s going to be a cold one this year.”

“All the more reason for you to take some of my coin and spend it on something warmer.” He had teased her as he moved one of the wooden chairs next to her. “Hell, I’ll give you enough to spend on as many girls as you can.”

Nellie had shaken her head at that. “Men like seeing a little skin and I don’t take charity. Not from you at least.”

Jacob hadn’t stayed there long with the girl. He had asked her on Lady Owen’s movements, and the status of the prostitutes Nellie kept in touch with. Nothing new and exciting, but it was a good opportunity for Nellie to be off the streets. They had walked to a nearby pub after that, where he had gotten her something warm to eat and then sent her on her way with money, though she had still protested it. Jacob didn't wait long before he went back to his actual lodgings.

The flat was still warm with the fire that had been going when he had left, though it was nothing more than coals now. He had been extra quiet, making his way down to the end of the hallway where laid Nathaniel’s bedroom. Opening the door, he felt no panic seeing the bed empty, knowing exactly where the boy would be. He made way to his own room to see, as predicted, his son curled up into his blankets. He uttered a soft curse and made a mental note to remind Nate that he was too grown to be still sleeping in his bed and that he didn't care if he thought this bedroom was the warmest. But that would wait for the morning. And really how could he complain seeing such a tender sight. 

He had undressed as quietly as possible down to his shirt and drawers and tried to snatch as many blankets as possible from the clutch of his son, before falling asleep himself. He barely had time to dream when he, and by the way, Nate jolted, had been woken at five by loud banging. He had barely dressed, making his way to the front door, dread firm in his stomach. His concern had been made worse when he saw Levi’s face.

“What are-“ Jacob didn’t get a chance. Levi interrupted him quickly, his voice thick.

“He killed her.” No need for clarification. He just stood there shocked as Levi went on. “They found her body an hour ago, the bobbies are in a fit now. I went to our normal meeting spot and found out on my way. I didn’t dare try to go to the scene without you.”

“What’s going on?” He looked behind to see Nate somewhat dressed and blurry-eyed. “It's too damn early for this nonsense-“

“Nate go back to bed.” There was no time for this. He turned back to Levi. “Let me get dressed and I’ll follow you.”

He knew it was bad. He knew just how Jack would have killed her as they made their way down to Buck’s Row without a single word spoken. The body wasn’t there anymore, but the congealed blood that stuck to the ground marked so much. It was so odd, being here, so close to the shop Henry Green once led them to when they were still so new to London. A sight so familiar now marked with a death Jacob had a hard time understanding.

“We used to work at the same loom.” Levi had been so quiet the entire walk over that his voice nearly made him jump. He just looked at him, waiting for more. But nothing came, just a sad look that said everything.

Guilt hit him in his gut-deep. Poor Bridget Lyness was all he could think. It had been what he had thought when he had first met her before he had decided to go off to India for a year. Poor, poor Bridget who was so clever and so helpless. It’s why he had taken her in, trained her, showed her how to live a life where she wasn't so helpless and watched her grow into a woman. And he had led her to her death.

“Jack is going to pay for this.” He whispered. “We can’t attack him yet; his control is far too powerful, and we have no idea who is all informants are just yet. We need to wait.”

"Are you sure?" It was defiance, but uncertainty in Levi. One he couldn't blame.

"Absolutely. I've learned acting without a plan causes more trouble. We can't risk anything."

Words and lack of actions he’d soon regret. But how could he have known in less than a week Jack would act again, bolder and grotesque. That it would yet again be a girl just like Bridget. He would try to disband the operation but would of all been so stubborn; a dozen assassins who wanted to protect London as desperately as he did. Who was willing to die for the cause.

How could he then, walking away from the murder site of ‘Mary Ann Nichols’ know he’d soon find himself bloodied and beaten alone in some crypt, regretting the deaths of his Initiates? Hoping that Jack was leaving his son alone. That Freddy would be safe after being appointed lead Inspector? That his stupidity hadn't costed everything?

He couldn’t of, but still, in that crypt he had berated past him for every moment. And prayed, that if Evie ever got his letter and came, she’d fix his mess. Like old times.


	7. hope you call me (evie/henry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seemed like it would have been so different by his side. She could claim totally independence, and yet if given the choice she’d happily depend and lean onto Henry. Marrying him had made them a set in a way that she wasn’t with Jacob. Where Jacob had once made her want to be on her own, Henry made Evie long for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a crime it took me this long to write Henvie

“I forgot how cold this place was.” Were the first words out of Henry’s mouth when he stepped off the train and into Evie’s arms. Had it really been four months since they last held each other?

“The first thing you say to your wife after nearly a year and a half apart? Always the romantic, Henry.” She had teased before he pressed his lips to hers. She didn’t care who’d see or if this was an inappropriate action in such a public space. Henry had a way of making her not care anymore, stilling her thoughts for a time.

She had walked with him back to where she had been staying on Church Street with Jacob and her nephew, filling him in on everything that had happened. It was truly the first time Evie had ever put to words what that week had been like. And bless Henry, who listened with little commentary and let her speak until she had no words left. Instead of heading to Church Street, they had found a small cemetery to sit in as she described in detail the crypt below Lambeth.

“I wish I was there with you.” He had said, squeezing her hand. “It sounds like so much to take on your own.”

All she could do was give a heavy sigh. It was the first time she had thought about it. When the letter from Jacob had come, Henry had been so quick to offer to come along. Or rather, he was under the impression he was coming along too. Evie had quashed that, stating the Brotherhood needed him more in India than in Britain. And that it would be fieldwork, which she knew Henry still avoided with a passion.

How different it would have been if he had been there; she imagined the pain would have hurt less then. How many times had Evie doubted herself and allowed despair to hit her? Or let anger get the best of her?

It seemed like it would have been so much easier by his side. She could claim totally independence, and yet if given the choice she’d happily depend and lean onto Henry. Marrying him had made them a set in a way that she wasn’t with Jacob. Where Jacob had once made her want to be on her own, Henry made Evie long for company.

And company was what she needed when she had faced what was arguably the worst target of her career. For a moment, she imagined a world where she could have faced Jack with Henry, knowing it was going to be alright.

“I wish you were too.” She whispered, with a smile and returned that squeeze. “You don’t know how much I wish you did.”


	8. ye of little faith (emma abberline)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She found herself having to grit her teeth the second the tot cried out ‘pap’ and went waddling over into open arms. And it would eat at her for hours on end, leaving her feeling desperate and upset.

Emma was never privy to envy. It was an ugly thing that her parents had stomped out quickly. She had learned fast that some had, and some did, but to give when you could and never want from anyone. She had built herself up on the idea of virtues and a general pleasantness; all things that had come naturally. She was not without sin, but Emma prided herself on her integrity.

And yet she could not ignore the burning hot something in her stomach every time Jacob came by to take Nathanial home. She found herself having to grit her teeth the second the tot cried out ‘pap’ and went waddling over into open arms. And it would eat at her for hours on end, leaving her feeling desperate and upset.

Emma loved the both, there was no doubt, and she was more than honoured that Jacob had trusted her and Fred with his son’s care. But there was something primal about this feeling. Something bone-deep. It was nearly indescribable; Fred would never know how she truly felt so no words ever had to be put to it. But she wanted that to be her. She wanted what Jacob had. She wanted a baby, off balanced and round in the face, to go running to her husband when he came home, crying out for him with a smile. She wanted so terribly it ached. And lord knew they had tried and tried and yet with no avail.

Something burned in her too when she though on how some woman out there had thrown that little boy away. Emma didn’t know the full story as Fred didn’t, but in her mind she could not help but imagine some careless woman who didn’t know what she had.

But that wasn’t fair was it. And Emma knew. Within a day she would correct herself and Nate would be back over again. And Emma would fall back into that cycle once more; angry, envious and far too sad for what was becoming apparent she could not have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever write some actual fic instead of technical original characters? Never.


	9. the path that time makes us (jacob and nate)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has to be the most self-indulgent thing I've written. This is based on something written by ao3 Pyotr is chapter 2 of 'the fair wrought house'.

He felt awkward standing in the small living room. There wasn’t much to look at and Jacob, as much as he was trying to stay focused and still, was getting bored. And boredom brought about a fidgetiness that his father had failed to train out of him. He could hear hush tones from down the hallway, in what he suspected was _her _bedroom. He didn’t dare go down and ask what was taking so long.

They had come to a simple arrangement when Jacob had found out a month prior when they had met again for the first time in months by accident. It didn’t sit well with him for a number of reasons, but really what choice did he have? None, not with who he was and what he did.

The door clicked open and a woman came out with her arms full. She looked a lot like her daughter, if not more worn and wrinkled like an old leather boot. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him staring, but Jacob had gotten used to this. He couldn’t blame her for hating him.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.” The woman said. “But she says thank you for doing this for her.”

She handed what was in her arms off to him. Wrapped up in a brown blanket and swaddled beneath was a baby. He took it as carefully as he could, never having held a baby before, and was amazed to find that it fit perfectly in his arms. 

“I suppose I should congratulate you on a son.” The woman, the grandmother to this child, didn't look as though she wanted to. More likely she wanted him out of the flat as quickly as possible.

He instead looked down at the sleeping newborn, and all doubts seemed to vanish. Catherine had been one night and when they had met again, her belly swollen, Jacob had accepted what she had told him while secretly doubting she was telling the truth. She had assured him over and over that he had been the only man she had slept within that time and she was no whore. 

But now, he seemed to fully believe it, as he took in the sight of black hair and the shape of his nose. It was like a pull. And he completely forgot he was just standing awkwardly in the small living room being glared at.

He shook himself out of it quickly. “Thank you.” He murmured, sheepishly. 

The woman glanced at the door and then back to him. A cue. He made his way to the door, carefully aware of the delicate package in his arms.

“Before I go,” He said, turning to her. “May I ask what church you belong to. Hate for you to be an Anglican and I bring him to St Etheldreda's.” 

It was a joke and one that didn’t land well. Her eyes narrowed and he could feel a chill run up his spine.

“Just drop it off somewhere with a roof and learn your lesson.” Sharp words that almost cut through him. She could have suggested a free castration with her kitchen knife and it would have been gentler.

“Sure.” And with that, he left the flat. He heard the door close behind him, and it marked the first moments alone with the baby. His son.

Jacob took that time to look down at it, and study it further. He could feel it in his heart that this was without a doubt his own. There was something so familiar in its face that he really couldn’t dispute it. Maybe it was how the upper lip seems misshapen like his own, or something less tangible, but it felt right.

And suddenly everything got harder.

After Catherine had pleaded with him to believe her, she had declared she didn’t want to be a mother. That once the baby came, she would give it away. Even then, with his doubts, that had made him squirm.

“I deal with… people who grew up in the Foundlings or left on the Church’s doorsteps. They didn’t have an easy life.” He had thought back to the many orphans he had taken under his wing, including the recently deserted Jack who had grown up in an asylum of all places.

“And I have nothing to give _ it. _” She had retorted. “There’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

She had been good to keep it a secret from people who knew her and had moved back in with her mother and had told him she would bring it to the nearest church when she would go back to Whitechapel. That’s when he had offered to take it off her hands. Even if the child wasn’t his, at least he would be doing her some good after causing her so much grief.

(It hadn’t been grief when he gave it to her, he distantly remembered. He had been brought to the pub she worked at as a celebration. He had cockily told her it was his birthday hoping to get a free pint out of it. Instead, she had flirted with him all night till she was released from her duties and they had made haste back to her own place. He had barely given her a second thought when he had left her in the morning despite the praises she gave him.

There had been no praises anymore. Just a scared, and stupidly pregnant girl.)

Jacob nearly crashed a few times making his way down the street, as he could not keep his eyes off the baby. It didn’t make a sound once, remaining asleep. When he had first arrived, he knew where the closest church was and had been planning on leaving it there, but now he couldn’t seem to walk in that direction.

Instead, he took a detour to a nearby park. For the most part on his walk over no one glanced at him, as it was in London. But some noticed the obvious thing in his arms and flashed him a smile, emboldening the part of him that didn’t want to let go.

The park was nearly empty. It was the middle of August and most folk would be doing everything they could to avoid the heat, instead of sitting in some park. He had taken to a shaded section and sat down as carefully as he could. Years of training for precision and stealth seemed to come in handy for avoiding jostling the baby.

He moved a bit of the blanket away from his face and marvelled as he opened his eyes for the first time. It squirmed a little, closing them again and with a little hand now free, his eyes were open once more. They were blue. He knew babies were normally born with blue eyes, his nana had told him Evie and he had been nearly identical back before his eyes had changed colour, but it was still a shocking thing. Catherine had dark brown eyes. He wondered if they would go that greenish colour like his own, or maybe he would have Evie, and by extension, Ethan’s startling blue eyes? It upset him in a way he couldn’t describe that he probably would never know.

“I kill people for a living, you have to understand.” He told the little thing, who’s eyes were transfixed on him. “I run a gang. I lead a pack of assassins. I am an assassin and I don’t have a place to raise you. I live in a train of all places.”

The baby just lazily blinked, it’s mouth popped open into a perfect little ‘o’. Jacob sighed heavily and looked up away from him. He thought voicing his concerns outloud would fortify him, but really it did the opposite.

“I wouldn’t be able to take care of you.” He said, looking back down at him. He took the tiny hand between his thumb and index, giving it a little squeeze. “I don’t have any family here. My nana and father have been dead for some time and Evie is only back here in London for a short bit before going back to India. And that’s on assassin business, she wouldn’t have time to help me. I don’t have anyone, not even Freddy… I messed that up and I haven’t seen him since I got back from India two years ago. I can’t even keep a simple… whatever we were and you’d expect me to raise you right?”

The baby just blinked again. Of course, it didn’t care about his troubles. It couldn’t argue for itself at all. His mind wandered to his little initiates, so many coming from the workhouse. 

“I made a mistake.” He whispered, feeling his voice get thick. “I….”

Staring down at the baby, he felt ashamed. He had made a mistake and this thing was going to pay for it for the rest of his life. Maybe a short one at that considering the conditions most abandoned and orphaned children grew up in. Maybe sickness or the effects of child labour would get him. Or maybe he would make it to adulthood, broken and alone

And the thought was too much.

Before he could come to a set conclusion, the baby squirmed again and gripped hard onto his index finger. He was amazed by how much strength, though arguably not a lot, this thing had. He marvelled at the little fingers and was blown away by how something could be so small. Even the fingernails got him. How could something be so impossibly small and real?

It seemed like his son had made the decision for him.

“I can’t give you the world. But I’ll give you damn near close.” He brought his lips down to the little hand and pressed them against them. His boy flexed his hand in response and Jacob couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

He eventually got up from that spot and made his way out of the park with a new destination in mind. The train station wasn’t too far a walk and Evie would be down by the docks with Freddy and that American detective, on the trail for some ISU artifact that had been stolen. He could make it back to the train in time to ask Agnes to grab him some things and think of how he’d break the news he had been keeping a secret from Evie before she’d make it back to the train.

It was as he neared the station, lost in fantasies of how this new relationship would go, that he realized he had no name for the little thing. Nothing. There was a part of him that wanted to name him after Inspector Abberline but knew Freddy would kill him if they ever spoke again. Frederick was a good sounding middle name, which Jacob tucked away for later.

It wasn’t until he was stood in the station, hearing the very familiar sound of Bertha making her way down the tracks that a name clicked in his head.

“How do you like the sounds of Nathaniel?” He asked, his son sleeping soundly again. “I could call you Nate for short. Nathaniel Frederick Frye? Or your middle name could be Henry? After your uncle. I like Frederick better though.”

His son barely stirred, but his little tongue popped out of his mouth. He took it as a sign. “Alright, Nathaniel Frederick it is.”

The train came to a stop and Jacob felt a completely different person than he had when he had stepped off that very train hours earlier. Again, the newly christened Nathaniel made no movement as he boarded the train and only opened his eyes briefly when the train sounded off and started to move.

“Welcome to your home,” Jacob said, taking the one last moment he had left with him. He could hear Agnes making her way down to the carriage and from this point on he’d have no other option but to explain himself to anyone he came in contact with. “I’ll get you a more steady home, grounded in one place eventually. But you’ll like it here for now.”

Suddenly, as it dawned on him that this child was going to be the rest of his life, nothing else in the world mattered to him but his little boy. And he would have it no other way.

**Author's Note:**

> cicadaemon.tumblr


End file.
